You Can't Hide
by shady stays gold
Summary: Kiana was adopted into the Licentia family when she was three. She came from Uganda. Now she's a regular 17 year old. She's moving to Detroit with her family in a week. But then her great-grandmother is violently killed inside her house. On the wall a message is written in blood. Even in the rowdy streets of Detroit, Kiana can't hide. (TAKES PLACE IN 2034)


**Hey, everyone! If you've read my stories before, you probably know these things**

**1) I can and will associate anything with songs by Eminem (I'm a huge fan)**

**2) The Hunger Games is the series I write for most often, but I have one Beka Cooper fanfic.**

**3) I love to swear, and most of my fanfics include swearing. **

**This is my first fanfic for Miss Peregrine's School for Peculiar Children. I first read it last Halloween and was really creeped out. **

**The main character who is supposedly "me" does not look like me. Her name is not my real name. Just clearing that up for you. And her family is made up.**

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"Kiana," says my great-grandmother. "Will you be a dear and get the cardboard box from the attic?" I stare at her, unbelieving.

"We have about fifty of those," I tell her, trying to be kind. After all, she's a sweet old lady.

"No," she insists, "_The _box."

My great-grandmother, Rachael Licentia, has dementia and sees things often. Sad as it is, she sometimes needs me to help her discern fiction from reality.

I smack my forehead. "Oh, the box!" I say, pretending to know what she means. "I'll go get it." Technically, I'm babysitting her. The entire Licentia family is moving to Detroit, Michigan. We live in Raleigh, North Carolina now. Our family has always lived in a row of houses, side by side. We're very close-knit.

Well, I'm not really a Licentia family member. I don't know my last name. I was adopted from Uganda when I was three. All I know is that my African name sounded kind of like Kiana, so my adoptive family named me that.

We're trying to move out of our house. Me, my dad, his girlfriend, my little sister, and great-grandmother Rachael live here. Well, we used to. My dad and his girlfriend are looking for a place that'll sell them an alarm system for our new house in Detroit- we're going to be living in a pretty sleazy neighborhood. Since they're gone, it's just me, my little sister Haley, Haley's babysitter and great-grandmother Rachael. Dad's literally paying me to watch Rachael.

I didn't tell her that, though. I love her too much to do that.

I open the trapdoor to the attic. A ladder unrolls itself and smacks my head. A dead bat falls down along with it, along with a ton of bat shit.

"You sure this is safe, grandma?" I call down to her.

"It's fine," she says. "Just get the box." I grit my teeth and walk up the ladder. "Goddammit... fuck..." I mutter under my breath as I feel the paint of the ladder rungs flake off under my hands. I get to the top and hoist myself up into the attic. I crawl until my entire body is in the attic. I wipe my hands on my dark jeans.

"The box..." I mutter. What could that be, anyway? I scan the attic. Fuck, it's cold in here. I rub my hands together and stuff them in my pockets. She said it was cardboard, that narrows it down a bit. Unfortunately, I wasn't exaggerating when I said we have about fifty of those.

I wade through a ton of plastic boxes until I get to the older boxes in the back of the attic. The floor creaks under my feet, and the smell of mustiness and bat shit fills my nose.

Then I see it. The box is very old and in thick black marker-written cursive, a note on it reads "Property of Rachael Brown." Brown was great-grandma's maiden name. Her mother was a Brown also, from what she's told me, because when she was married, she kept her maiden name.

I open up the box. I'm going to have to relocate the contents to another box in better shape. I reach one brown-skinned arm into the box. My curly black hair is tied back securely in a knot on my head. Since I don't think I can get any dirtier, I pull out a handful of pictures.

I sit back on my haunches on the dirty floor. The pictures are very old, I can see, yellowing. I take a look at one. It's of a girl sitting beside a tall bonfire looking proudly at the camera. Something is strange about the picture. I take a close look at it and startle.

There's no fuel under the fire. At all.

Fires don't just start that way naturally.

I swallow and look at the next picture. Then I drop it immediately after. The picture is of a tall man wearing a suit. But the odd thing is... his eyes don't have any pupils.

I sift through all the pictures. They're all just as creepy. I shiver as I see one of a teacup floating in midair. I look around in the attic, because suddenly, it feels like someone's watching me.

I see nothing. No one.

I shove the pictures back in the box and trip my way down the ladder, accidentally missing the last two steps. "Grandma? I've got the-" I feel myself drop the box and a scream comes out from my mouth.

I don't see great-grandma Rachael having a heart attack. In fact, I don't see her at all. This is what I see:

One of our kitchen butcher knives rests on the table, covered in blood.

I cover my mouth and start to back out of the kitchen. Then I see a flash of red. On the wall. My eyes drift up. It's writing.

_We found you now. You can't get away from us. _

Somehow I know they're not talking about great-grandmother Rachael- they're talking about me.

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**So, yeah. If anyone bothers to read this, review! If I'm doing bad, tell me what I'm doing wrong. :D**


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